


Kaiju Blue

by OnForeboding



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, No Reason, Pacific Rim AU, Snippets, just peeks into the world in this AU, no rhyme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7661332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnForeboding/pseuds/OnForeboding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Pacific Rim AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the Shatterdome

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this lovely [post](http://captain-flint.tumblr.com/post/148313007653/fuzzybooks-theheirsofdurin-candlewinds) and this lovely [gifset](http://jamesemcgraw.tumblr.com/post/148311919472/silverflint-pacific-rim-au-blame-captain-flint), I present you with my take on the Pacific Rim AU!
> 
> Since this is a pretty loosey-goosey thing for me, if any of you guys wanna send me scene prompts, you’re more than welcome! If they strike my fancy, I’ll try and write them to the best of my ability :) Different characters too!  
> Just shoot me a message on my [tumblr](http://parrotsinlondon.tumblr.com/ask). 
> 
> My thanks to [Linz](http://linzorz.tumblr.com) and [ellelan](http://ellelan.tumblr.com/) who basically have veto power over all I write on here :p

Silver was enjoying the first real hot shower he’d had in quite a while. Since the rationing, this kind of stuff had become the luxury of a lifetime for his left leg. He positioned his stump underneath the spray and let himself lean against the tiled wall. As the muscles in his thigh relaxed, under the heat and pressure, he sighed audibly, feeling relief travel all the way from his hip to his non-existent foot.

The sound of wet footsteps made him open his eyes. It took him a few seconds to manage to see through the steam and identify the figure standing in front of him.

“Silver.” Flint’s voice echoed in the communal shower.

Silver pushed off the wall and stood straight on his one good leg. His eyes instinctively shifted in the direction of his locker. Without his prosthetic, he felt naked in a way that had nothing to do with his current state of undress.

“The Marshall has made his decision. You and I will be piloting Man o’War,” Flint said.

Clearly news that required him to barge in on another man’s shower. “I look forward to working with you,” Silver said, for lack of anything else to say.

Flint walked toward him. He was barefoot but still wearing the training gear from earlier. Staying out of the spray, he extended his arm out to Silver for a handshake.

Silver smiled. Maybe this was an old army thing. He went for the handshake, but Flint shoved his forearm against Silver’s chest, pinning him to the wall instead. He reached behind Silver with his other hand, and for a hot second Silver thought this was going in a completely different direction, but then Flint just turned off the shower.

“Let me make myself clear: just because you and I are drift compatible that does not mean you are _welcome_ in my head.”

Silver narrowed his eyes. “Actually, by definition, that’s exactly what it means,” he said, unable to help a smirk.

Flint pushed on his chest harder. “Drift compatible doesn’t mean I have to like you. And I don’t,” Flint growled in his face.  

Silver tilted his head. “Well, the available literature on that is—”

Flint shoved his arm against Silver’s neck.

“Ok, got it!” Silver managed, arms raised in the air.

Flint kept eye contact for a little too long, and Silver felt his own gaze waver between defiance and confusion more times than he would’ve liked.

Seemingly content, Flint let go of him and started walking out of the shower.

Silver frowned. Well, that was super weird. Still…

“Just so you know, I’m a hard man not to like!” he shouted after Flint’s retreating form.

Silver had never let anyone have the last word in his life; he wasn’t about to start now.


	2. Engage at your discretion

Walking into the mess hall felt like training academy all over again.There he was, with his garish robotic prosthetic, among all the specimens of the peak of human physique. That's right, everyone take a good look. Half robot over here! He tightened his grip on the food tray but otherwise smiled vaguely to most onlookers.

He spotted an older bald gentleman waving him over to his table. And speaking of peaks of human physique, who the hell was that giant eating across from him? Silver waved back casually, as if they were long time friends, and headed toward the table.

"Hello." Silver sat. "My name is John Silver and I’m—"

"We all know who you are, lad," the older man said. "I'm Gates. That's Billy." He pointed at the blond giant, who frowned.

"Bones," the blond giant corrected.

Silver was about to extend his hand in greeting but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a cat on the table.

"And that's Betsy," Gates informed him.

Billy/Bones reached out his hand, and the grey and white cat eagerly rubbed her head against it.

Silver smiled at the man. Billy/Bones did not smile back.

"We're the Walrus crew," Gates said.

Silver had a hard time concealing his surprise. He wasn't the one to judge, obviously, but wasn't Gates well past retirement time? He supposed desperate times called for desperate measures. Jaeger pilots weren't exactly growing on trees these days. If they were, he certainly wouldn't have gotten stuck with Mr. Sunshine.

"Nice to meet you," Silver said. "I saw the Walrus when I came in. That's one magnificent beast. Mach 1?"

"Sturdy as they come. Our watch has never been breached," Gates replied.

"How does Man o' War handle? Next gen and all that," Silver asked, between bites of what was turning out to be a half decent steak.

His very brief stint as the academy’s cook had increased his respect for the profession considerably. It turned out managing to not give an entire unit diarrhoea was harder than it seemed.

"Next gen is a lot more brain than brawn. Handles about as well as their best pilot does. I believe you've met him?" Gates sneered.

Billy snorted. (Billy, definitely. The comedy factor on that one was too good to pass up. He might actually start calling him Tiny Billy. That should endear him to the man in no time.)

Silver sighed and shoved some mash in his mouth. He scanned the hall for the distinctive ginger hair. No sign of Flint. "What's his problem anyway?"

"Whatever he's done, and I'm sure he's done something, I wouldn't take it too personally, son. That's just his way."

"He's just freaked out by you," Billy added. Gates sent him a warning glance.

Great, another peg leg basher. "Why?" Silver asked, nonetheless.

Gates leaned in. "That man hasn't had a drift compatible partner in over a decade,” he replied, in a conspiratorial tone. “And there was no shortage of candidates.”

Silver stopped his next forkful midair. "How is that even possible? In ten years, not a single compatible?"

"He's been trying to convince the Marshall for years to let him go at it solo!" Gates said.

"And then you come along," Billy said, self-satisfied smile up to his ears.

No wonder the guy was wound up so tight. Silver had thought it was some boundary establishing alpha male bullshit but now he got it. Flint hadn't drifted with someone for ten years. He must be as terrified as him. That left only one other question.

“What happened to his co-pilot?”

The Walrus pair exchanged a knowing look.

“Come on, I don’t wanna have to find out about it in the Drift!”

“It’s not our story to tell,” Billy said, picking up Betsy, who’d been edging her way towards Silver to investigate. He got up and left.

Gates turned sombre and focused his gaze on the contents of his plate. “What a man shows in the Drift, stays in the Drift, son. And in the end the Drift claims us all,” he said.


	3. Whenever I'd feel small or lonely

Man o’ War was a next-gen Jaeger—it was faster, more agile, and thrived in the aquatic environment, with its new amphibious design: a technological jump brought on by despair in the face of an unwinnable war. It had been a major hit against the Kaiju. It was everything Silver had ever dreamed of.

He sat up in one of the highest decks of the Shatterdome, legs dangling over, looking at its exposed core. The engineering crew was working on the last details, before the first test with its new pilots. Silver took a deep steadying breath, fingers drumming against the metal beneath him.

This higher level of finesse required an even deeper connection between its pilots to control it. A nigh supernatural ability to align with each other, even for the Drift—they had to become one. There were stories in the academy of pilots who had gotten so lost in the drift with their co-pilot that they’d mixed memories, begun absorbing each other’s personality, tastes and tics, or developed unhealthy attachments. And there were other stories. Tales of a drift plunge into each other so deep that—

Silver gritted his teeth against the fear blooming in his chest.

Nothing was going to stop him from reaching his goal. Not his leg. Not the Marshall. And not Flint. He was a Ranger now, and no one would take that from him. He was _here_.

Silver looked up at Man o’ War’s helmet. It had a reptilian aerodynamic design, which made some of the other Jaeger pilots nervous. It was irrational, of course, nothing but a primal response to the resemblance to their enemy. Understandable. All Silver saw was freedom. He didn’t see a Kaiju. He saw the opportunity to be _like_ one. To feel divinity within his grasp.

It was what he feared revealing in the Drift the most.


	4. Engage pilot-to-pilot protocol

"My decision is final, Captain Flint. You drop with him as co-pilot or you do not drop at all."

Marshall Scott was sitting at his desk. Flint didn't even know he _had_ a desk. Or an office. Or did anything other than stalk the halls of the Shatterdome.

"Sir, he's just some brash kid. He's gonna get himself fucked up in the drift the first time we align," Flint insisted.

"What he is, is an extraordinary pilot, capable of keeping up with even the likes of you." The Marshall finally got up and slowly made his way around to face him. Flint’s posture straightened further, an involuntary reaction in the presence of a commanding officer.

"That 'brash kid', I would argue, may very well be your equal."

Flint's mind swam with so many emotions he couldn't decide which one to focus on. Outrage seemed to be gaining considerable ground. He couldn't very well disobey or disrespect his direct superior but accomplishing this was currently taking a lot of restraint. This was such a clear mistake. Why couldn't the Marshall see it?

"That boy may be a good Ranger. Even a great one. But I feel compelled to insist, sir: Silver and I should not engage in the drift."

"What is it that Thomas used to say, Captain? 'Strange pairs'?” Marshall Scott smiled fondly.

Flint flinched back. The Marshall may as well have hit him across the face. He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to lash out at the low blow. "Sir, please—"

"Dismissed," Marshall Scott ordered, turning his back on Flint.

Flint's whole body tightened with rage, making his teeth grind and his fists clench, behind his back. He took a deep stiff breath and bounded out of the room.

Outside, the current bane of his existence sat on the steps of the room across the hall.

"From your jovial demeanour, I can only assume that didn't work?" Silver scoffed.

Flint pursed his lips, managing not to throttle him, by some impossible feat of remaining self-control.

Silver got up and sauntered toward him. "We should work this out. Better out here than in the drift,” Silver pleaded, pointing in the direction of the launch hangar.

Flint’s body thrummed with contempt. He was going to kill Silver. I mean, that way he certainly wouldn’t have to endure him as co-pilot.

Silver crossed his arms and came closer. “This is happening, Flint,” he stated, in a far less amenable tone. And just like that, the pleading softness in his blue eyes from just a moment ago was gone. “Don’t you miss it? The thrill of it? The rush of power pumping through your veins?” Silver asked.

From this distance, Flint could see Silver’s biceps ripple, in seeming anticipation. Flint felt like he should cross his own arms. Instead, he let the ghostly electricity of muscle memory radiate down, making his fingers jerk involuntarily. He could smell Silver’s freshly showered body now—he smelled like the sea.

Silver locked eyes with him. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged, with a smirk.

Flint held his gaze. Yes, he missed it. Terrifyingly so. He missed it almost as much as—

Silver leaned upwards and Flint was rooted to the floor, dizzy with their proximity.

“I can make you invincible again,” Silver whispered into his ear—sultry, inviting.

It sent an amazing shiver down Flint’s body and he struggled to keep his eyes open.

Silver leaned back and still, that damn smirk remained.

“I’m going to burn through you like a fucking match,” Flint snarled. He shoved past Silver, towards his bunker, resisting the urge to look back.


	5. Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers

This was it. He was about to enter the Drift and be at the helm of his very own, real life Jaeger.

Flint stood next to him in his old, dark green, worn-down gear, no doubt retrofitted to be compatible with the next gen at his request. It made Silver’s immaculately white gear scream even louder of ‘Jaeger virgin’ and his mind boiled with spite; probably not the best mood for neural handshake.

Silver gripped the controls harder, took a deep breath and tried to empty his mind.

All around them, Man o’ War roared to life. At first, Silver had worried it might make him feel trapped or claustrophobic but the power that encased him now made him feel anything but.

_INITIATING NEURAL HANDSHAKE._

Silver keep his gaze fixed on the screen in front of him. Still, Flint’s presence was both an anchor and a churning wave in his peripheral vision. He’d taken the right hemisphere without so much as a ‘may I’ but Silver was okay with that. He was a left side man; always had been.

“You’re not in a simulator anymore. If your mind is as busy as your mouth, you’re gonna last about five seconds before you’re chasing that rabbit,” Flint said, looking at Silver sideways.

Silver turned toward him but remained silent, if only not to give Flint the pleasure of proving his point.

“The Drift is silence,” Flint said, now staring at his own screen.

The expression on his face wasn’t mocking or spiteful – he looked to Silver like an imperious marble statue of some ancient general, straight from the Academy’s history books. He looked ready for war. And Silver finally understood he wasn’t the adversary, the Drift was. He tried to swallow down the sudden fear together with the urge to retch.

_NEURAL INTERFACE DRIFT INITIATED._

The surge of memories hit him broadside. It was like dreaming at high velocity. He saw his cold orphanage room. He tasted Miranda’s creamy, red lipstick. He felt vindication overwhelm the spasms of his limbs, in a simulation room full of disbelief. He tasted the salt of his tears, at the sight of Gipsy Danger fighting some impossible nightmare on tv. He felt his heart run with his legs at the sight of Thomas, challenging him from across the training room. He smelled the musty fur of his stray dog, Parrot. He saw himself smiling and bold and intrusive and he wanted all over again. He felt the clumps of his sheared hair against the porcelain of the hospital bathroom sink. He tasted his grandfather’s homemade porridge. He saw the rigid, black font that seemed to him the most beautiful calligraphy, on a letter that read like deliverance. He felt his nerves sing with the sudden discovery of an intimate, overwhelming pleasure just hiding on the other side of the right partner. He felt the pills on the worn knit of his favourite blue jumper. He felt his howling, empty stomach. He felt the pain. He saw the ash. He tasted the blood. He heard the screaming. Saw pain. Heard pain. Tasted pain. He wasn’t whole anymore. HE WASN’T WHOLE ANYMORE. THERE WAS A HOLE IN HIM. A HOLE IN THE JAEGER. THOMAS WAS GONE. HE COULDN’T STAND. HIS LEG WAS GONE. HIS HEART WAS GONE. THERE WAS A WHOLE. THERE WAS A HOLE.

“Silver!” Someone yelled from far away.

_CODE RED. NEURAL BRIDGE OUT OF ALIGNMENT. CODE RED._

“Silver, listen to me!”

Flint. It was Flint, the Ranger. He was on the television, talking to Silver. He needed to help him fight the monster. The monster was coming for Thomas. It was coming.

_WEAPONS ENGAGED. PLASMA CANNON POWERING UP._

“JOHN!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favourite to write so far!


	6. And it turned out we had a unique skill

Silver smelled he was in the infirmary before he actually saw it. The familiar scent of over-boiled food and sterile supplies connected with his subconscious immediately. He blinked at the overly bright lights of his bedroom. Well, at least he wasn't dead or brain damaged. They'd taken his prosthesis away, because of course they had. Still, he couldn't help feeling violated and vulnerable. He was so fucking thirsty.

Turning to his right, he spotted the pink water jug. He sat up slowly. A flash of orange had him turn to his left. Flint was here. What the hell was he doing here? He sat sleeping in the room's only chair, arms crossed and head tilted forward. His scowl was gone, replaced by the serene lines of sleep. To the untrained eye he'd almost look like a normal human being.

The images of the Drift came rushing back. Now that he'd seen what lay behind that face, it was hard to begrudge Flint's behaviour. To lose a partner in such a way would warp anyone's character. His chest constricted under the memory of Flint's love for Thomas. His grief had crushed Silver in the Drift, palpable and insurmountable, like the weight of a building on him.

Silver's face twisted with agony and the effort of holding back the tears welling up in his eyes. It was unbearable to feel someone else's pain run through him like his own. It felt wrong and alien, and all Silver wanted to do was run away from the room screaming. He leaned over to reach for the jug, as silently as possible. The last thing he wanted right now was to look into Flint's eyes or have to talk him. It was an unspoken rule between rangers not to discuss what was shared in the Drift. You did not dive into someone's very core and come out drenched in it, only to complain about how cold it was. God, he was so thirsty.

Silver dragged the jug closer but the distance appeared to be too much for his inexplicably exhausted arms. There was noise and suddenly Flint was by his side, pouring the water himself. Silver kept his gaze down but reached out eagerly when Flint passed him the glass. Their hands touched and Silver had to stop himself from recoiling. He drank the whole thing in a few seconds, then closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillow.

"Your mind can't tell the difference between physical and mental exhaustion, right now," Flint said.

Silver heard him sit back down.

"That explains why I feel like a Kaiju sat on me," Silver said, covering his eyes with his forearm.

He couldn't look. He felt an almost uncontrollable urge to say 'sorry' but, at the same time, was paralysed by it. He wished with all his might that Flint would leave.

A heavy silence reigned between them for a while, until the very pressing question in Silver's mind could hold no longer.

"So I'm grounded now, right?" Silver asked, swallowing hard. His throat felt parched again.

"Next Kaiju, we'll be the first team out," Flint said.

That made Silver sit back up and actually look at Flint. He looked... calm? Silver was certain he'd never seen that expression on Flint's face before."What?" Silver asked, a little too loudly.

"You don't remember, do you?" Flint got up and moved closer to the bed."You were about to fire the plasma cannon in the hangar."

Excellent news for a rookie.

Flint refilled the glass."They tried shutting down Man o' War but the connection was... too strong. They evacuated the building. I was about to pull the plug on you but then—" He extended the glass to Silver. “—you got back into Alignment," Flint finished.

Silver took the glass but simply stared at the water. He turned to look at Flint and was surprised to find a smirk there. It was gone the next second.

"And then promptly passed out," Flint deadpanned.

Silver opened his mouth to speak, but the only thing that came out was a huffed smile.

"Welcome to the team," Flint said, before granting Silver’s wish and exiting the room.


End file.
